a service
by scribblingnellie
Summary: Inspector Lestrade finds himself transfixed by a certain enigmatic woman. Not that anything would come of it. Probably. A new pairing for my favourite Inspector! Many thanks for reading.


She was there again. His trusted assistant, ever present and always enigmatic. Greg knew he was staring, he did it every time he saw her. Something about her - Anthea, no title, no surname, just Anthea - captivated him. Possibly her deep eyes or that perceptive smile, or the gorgeous tumble of dark hair.

That evening, as they milled about on the footpath of the deserted industrial estate, flashing lights and dying flames throwing a glow across her, he found himself again imagining his fingers running through her hair. It was a nice daydream. His eyes followed her as she walked back and forth between the ambulance and her tall, mysterious boss. Faithful blackberry in her hands, her eyes casting up only to communicate some vital information to Mycroft Holmes. Both of them in their smart, immaculate suits, as though they hadn't just dashed from a burning building with a drug addled consulting detective in tow.

Greg pushed himself off the bonnet of his unmarked police car, scrubbing a hand over his scruff of hair. And clearing his mind of thoughts of the unattainable. Work to be done, and he had to be getting back. He knew the routine with Sherlock; confirm that the younger Holmes was still alive and in safe hands, and leave them to it. And Mycroft's hands were always safe; Greg's fingers absently strayed to the faint scar on his forehead. Definitely safe hands.

'Inspector Lestrade.' Mycroft stepped forward as Greg moved towards him. 'My thanks for your prompt action on this matter. And your discretion, as always.'

Nodding, Greg looked across to the back of the ambulance; doors open, he could just see the corner of Sherlock's coat hanging as he lay on the stretcher.

'He will be ok?'

'He will.' Straight to the point as always, Mycroft's voice never failed to quash the worries that tugged at Greg's mind; years of practice, no doubt.

'Good.' So that was it. He turned to go. 'I'll pop round Baker Street tomorrow, check up on him.'

'That would be an excellent idea...'

'Sir.'

That voice, with its sexy, husky edge, interrupted. Greg let it shiver down his spine as Anthea appeared at her boss's side. Lifting his eyes from the footpath, he watched her face, her gorgeous eyes, as she leaned in closer to Mycroft and they exchanged brief words and looks.

'Very well. I don't see why not.' Mycroft nodded.

Studying them from the corner of his eye as he searched in his coat pocket for his keys, Greg saw Mycroft hand her something, too small to see properly.

'Thank you, sir.'

And then she was looking over at him. Greg stopped, caught. Anthea did have the most beautiful eyes. And that smile; the one that she was giving him right then, making his knees just a touch unsteady. She began to walk towards him; he stood stock still.

Mycroft had gone. It just him and Anthea, and she had closed the distance between them. Greg held his breath; she was looking straight up into his eyes.

'Inspector, I believe this is yours.'

Her elegant hand came up between them, and Greg reluctantly let his eyes drop.

Oh. 'Where did...?'

Reaching out, he picked up his police ID card, his fingers tips resting ever so briefly against her palm. And his heart stumbling over a couple of beats.

'The usual place.'

Of course, where else. Greg didn't usually get them back, the ones that Sherlock managed to purloin from him.

'Thank you. I... the DCI gets a bit funny about..' He stopped; her hand was on his arm and he found that the words deserted him at her calm touch.

'Not at all, Inspector.' She smiled and moved to his side. 'I was wondering if you would do me a service.'

'Huh? Sorry?'

What possible service could he do the woman who worked for Mycroft Holmes? Greg found himself transfixed as she slipped her arm through his and pressed their sides together; she was warm and soft and right beside him. He felt the jolt hit his stomach and travel straight to his head.

'Join me for dinner. If you would like to.'

'Oh, um, I... sorry, dinner?'

She nodded, her smile tender but determined. 'Yes, dinner.'

Blowing out a breath, he couldn't stop himself grinning. Bloody hell.

'I'd like that.'

* * *

 **My first shot at a Greg/Anthea story. Just something different for my favourite Inspector. The idea came to me as I took a five minute break during a busy day at work and I found myself quickly getting it down before I had to go back! Written up in an evening, with a little bit of editing. Many thanks for reading.**


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